


A Taut String Pulled Yet More Taut

by Atqueinstupracaballum



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Fingernails, Hate Sex, Lascelles being...Lascelles, M/M, Violent Fantasies, granted the sex is reminisced upon more then shown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atqueinstupracaballum/pseuds/Atqueinstupracaballum
Summary: Everyone in this book is a bitch. Some characters just happen to be bigger bitches then others.
Relationships: John Childermass/Henry Lascelles
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	A Taut String Pulled Yet More Taut

He wanted to scrub the filth out from under John Childermass' fingernails. Nay, he wanted to rip the bloody things off completely. They, much like the man connected to them, were entirely unsalvageable. His own fingers, as of recently, had had the chance to stain with various ink pigmentations, but a gentleman has the _decency _to scrub it off at the end of the day. At least he did not tote himself around like some filthy dishrag, worn down to threads by some peasant lady. Really, it was an affront to Lascelles to be forced to look at such a _beast _.____

____"Really, Mr. Norrell," he often found himself grumbling, "you ought to discipline him. The Greatest Magician in England does not deserve such ill-bred, slovenly servants. People will talk, indeed I believe they already have begun..." In response, Norrell would always give him the same disapproving, petulant look, paired perhaps with some watered down remark in Childermass' defense. and so, his requests for the man of business' removal went unheeded, and with each new day at Hanover Square there came the putrid sight of that greasy, ugly dog of a Yorkshireman. Lascelles passed by him with cold disregard, as a man should pass by his lesser. Both were armed with silent, sneering, ironical grins and grimaces, saying nothing, yet imagining a great deal._ _ _ _

____He'd use a quill pen to do it, he thought to himself. Jam the sharpened nib, freshly cut, right under the nail, and leverage upwards to heaven. It would not be quick business. Not at all, it would do best to be slow, meticulous, _excruciating _. Such thoughts made reworking _Friends of English Magic _for the hundredth time, Norrell perched like some overwhelmingly mediocre hawk over his desk, tolerable._____ _ _ _

________Every time the man of business was forced to look at him, Lascelles had the immense pleasure of viewing the dark flame of contempt that consumed those dark, Northern eyes. He fancied Childermass wanted to maim him. _How quaint _. That imagery to colored his dull work with a few strokes of intrigue. Often, under this pretext, he stole glances at the servant as he wrote at his desk, or walked in and out, here and there, like some poorly fashioned thunder cloud drifting about its business, waiting to strike. What could such a dreadful excuse of a man do? Quite a bit, Lascelles imagined. It would be something steeped in carnality, of course, an animalistic, violent fever, entirely of a Northern taste.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Lascelles would do horrible, horrible things if it meant wiping that god awful wry smirk off of Childermass's face._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________The tension between them was becoming unsupportable. More often now than ever were the days and nights when Norrell would snap at them peevishly to halt their rows and return to their work. Yet, does the reader suppose they took Norrell's snips to heart? Did these two gentlemen do anything to fill the disagreeable chasm between them? of course not, that would have been far to commonplace. So, like thread being eternally yanked tauter between them, each tug a threat to the individual strands, which one by one, with a definite crack, were breaking, the thread as a whole growing thinner and thinner, they continued on._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Who then could be surprised when the thread finally broke? Surely, Lascelles was not._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"My friend, my dear friend, how late you are! The dinner is quite finished now. Where in God's name have you been!" Drawlight asked him hurriedly later that night. The pest. It was no business of him where he had been, with whom, and what he had been doing. Gentlemen kept that sort of business to themselves. So, Lascelles invented some pleasant sounding lie. It rolled from his tongue most naturally, all the while his thoughts were somewhere rather different where it stayed for the rest of that worthless social gathering. With sore muscles, he sat (without much ease) amongst the freshest, pinkest of society, and followed his mind as it wandered down a pathway of reminiscences. Sloping plains of large, calloused hands pressing his smooth neck led to shadowy hollows filled with hisses against hot flesh and his own canines sinking into a tan shoulder, fingers grabbing at any purchase they could find, which ultimately gave way to a lake warmed to a boiling point by the clash of hips and tongue, it's pool supplied by the tears of want and release._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________Utterly disgusting _, he said to himself, a silent, sick little shiver raced down his spine directly to his rotting core. An Earl was asking him something or another about some article he had written, whatever answer he gave was comfortably void of specifics and entirely unhelpful. Drawlight soon after drew him away from the crowd and into some secluded nook.__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Mr. Lascelles, how awfully pale you look! You are not ill are you? it would be fairly rubbish of you to get ill at such a time as this. Moreover, do not spread disease to Mr. Norrell, what good is a magician to us if he is dead- for one little cough would kill him, methinks."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________the expression which came onto Lascelles's face then could have been considered a smile, had it not been filled with such thinly veiled malice, an accidental reflection of the delectable wrath frothing over the scanty constraints of his soul. He was more than well. In fact, he assured Drawlight, he reckoned he had not felt so alive in years._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


End file.
